


A Bad Case of a Love-Hate Relationship

by erinyeserinno



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Fluff, I have no idea what to tag this as, M/M, Out of Character, also this is the first fic im posting on ao3, basically i wrote this for a tumblr prompt, sorta?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 16:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11444859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erinyeserinno/pseuds/erinyeserinno
Summary: Spot wakes up with a killer hangover in a bed that is definitely not his. The morning doesn't end up as bad as he thought.Or the one where Race and Spot are neighbors and neither of them are any good at showing their feelings.





	A Bad Case of a Love-Hate Relationship

Spot woke up with a killer headache. He groaned and blinked a few times, allowing his eyes to adjust to the harsh morning light as he sat up. The pounding in his head was relentless and he considered just laying in bed all day. Spot sighed. He moved to get up, and made a realization.

This was not his bed. 

He whipped his head around the room, trying to figure out where he was. Nothing seemed familiar. He definitely had never been here before. He ripped the covers off himself and sighed in relief when he saw he was still dressed in the same clothes from the previous night. What happened? How did he get in this random room?

The last thing he remembered was drinking one too many beers and the rest was fuzzy.

Cautiously, he crept out of bed and to the first door he saw. Unfortunately, it was a closet. Spot rolled his eyes. Whoever lived here owned too many plaid shirts for their own good. Spot tried the second door in the room, cracked it open, and peeked through. This time it revealed a small apartment interior. His eyes scanned the room for another person, perhaps the owner, but instead landed on what he assumed was the front door and Spot decided that was better. After assuring himself that the coast was clear, he slipped out of the bedroom and quietly, and quickly made his journey towards the door.

“Ahem,” someone cleared their throat. 

Spot jumped. So close. He had one hand on the doorknob. He straightened and turned to face whoever the owner of the apartment was. His confident stance staggered when he saw who was in the open kitchen beside him.

“Sleep well?” Racetrack Higgins was leaning on what Spot now knew was his own kitchen counter, stirring a cup of tea? Coffee? Spot didn’t know. He took a sip and smirked at the shorter boy.

“I- uh, yeah,” Spot cleared his throat and shook his head. He wanted to say something snarky and piss off the blonde idiot in front of him, but all that came out was a lame, “Why am I in your apartment?”

It didn’t make any sense. Spot and Race were not friends. Far from it, actually. They had hated each other ever since Race moved into the apartment next door to Spot’s. Every morning involved an exchange of insults as they opened their respective front doors and picked up their newspapers. He was loud, his friends were louder, and he was too attractive for his own damn good. Spot definitely stare at his ass when he picked up his mail in the morning, or blush fiercely whenever Race would win an argument smugly with a wink, or wonder about what it would be like to kiss him, or- Okay, so maybe Spot liked him, but that just made him hate his neighbor even more. They were supposed to hate each other. Spot lived to make Race’s life a living hell and the feeling was mutual. Spot nearly grinned to himself thinking of a specific morning argument that ended with Spot calling Race “princess” and getting The World thrown at his head. 

Race chuckled to himself. He picked up his mug and moved closer to Spot, near the door. He leaned against his kitchen doorway and gave Spot a grin.

“Well, maybe if you were sober enough to actually unlock your door last night, you would’ve slept in your own room instead of mine.”

“Fuck.”

Race laughed again. Damn, Spot wished he didn’t love that sound so much.

“Don’t worry. I slept on the couch. But you should be thanking me. After listening to you bang around in the hallway for ten minutes, I stormed outside to see what the hell you were doing. It was after midnight and I was trying to sleep-- don’t give me that look, I’m sorry if it’s a crime to get some sleep on a saturday night-- so I opened my door and saw you bumbling around like a complete idiot. I didn’t want to leave you out there, drunk off your ass, but I also couldn’t listen to your racket either. I decided to help after standing there laughing at you for a solid ten minutes, of course,” Race shrugged.

Of course. Spot rolled his eyes. “Thanks, I guess.”

The blonde boy nodded and took another sip from his mug.

“I should probably get home,” Spot didn’t know what to say. Race wasn’t supposed to help him. He was supposed to hate him, not look out for him. 

“Oh, before you go,” Race vanished into the kitchen for a moment. He reappeared with a glass of water and a box of aspirin. He set them down on the counter beside the doorway. The kitchen wall beside said door way had a cutout window that displayed the kitchen, a counter that crossed over on each side, and two stools placed before it. Spot noted that it really helped the open floor plan in the apartment, but that was beside the point.

Spot eyed the aspirin. Race rolled his eyes. 

“I’m not trying to kill you. Sit,” he commanded. Now, Spot Conlon was not one to follow directions from anyone, so he most definitely did not sit down immediately and obey Race. Nope, definitely did not do that. If anyone ever heard differently, he would deny it.

Race leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee (Spot finally identified the drink and the source of his neighbor’s hyperness) as Spot took the medicine. They stayed in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Spot’s curiosity got the best of him.

“Why did you help me?”

This seemed to catch Race off guard. It may have been then lighting but it appeared that Race blushed slightly.

“I dunno. I guess I just couldn’t leave you helpless.”

“But you hate me.”

Race shrugged.

“And you gave me your bed and slept on the couch yourself. Who does that?”

Race stared at his coffee.

“And you set aside aspirin for me, knowing I would need it when I woke up.”

“Jesus, what’s with all the questions, Conlon? Can’t a guy just do a nice thing?” Race muttered.

“Sure. But you’re not a nice guy. Neither am I. That’s how we work.”

The blonde pushed off the counter and groaned. He raised his voice a bit, “Yeah, and why is that Spot? Huh? Why do we hate each other so much?”

The Brooklyn boy opened his mouth to reply but he couldn’t find the answer. He didn’t know why they fought. In fact, Spot kept a mental note of Racetrack’s cuteness ever since he first caught a glance of that mop of blonde hair ducking through into the apartment next door. He couldn’t remember their first conversation, he just knew they had an argument about something and a rivalry started.

“Yeah,” Race said bitterly, realizing Spot had no answer.

“Well, it’s never been a problem before. I don’t know why all of a sudden you decided to do me any favors,” Spot said harshly, standing up.

“I was just trying to help,” Race defended.

“Spot Conlon is no charity case. I don’t need your help.” The shorter boy headed for the door again.

“So is that it?” Race called after him, stopping him for the second time with his hand on the doorknob. “We just keep fighting? God, Spot, I thought maybe we could end our stupid rivalry. I get that you clearly don’t want to be my friend, but do you have to hate me?”

Spot turned around, “You hate me. It’s a mutual thing.”

“Are you blind?” Race scowled. “I’ve never hated you. Maybe you pissed me off the first few weeks I lived here, but I got over all of that. Don’t think I don’t see that you’re actually a nice guy. God forbid the world sees that tough-guy Spot Conlon has a heart. 

“You know why I had you sleep here last night? Because you were banging on your door. You looked so frustrated and lost and dejected I couldn’t just leave you there. I tapped your shoulder and you looked at me and it was like someone broke your heart. I don’t know what the hell happened last night but you were on the verge of tears. You ended up hugging me and I didn’t know what else to do so I just held you and we stood out there for like fifteen minutes. And yeah, your keys were in your hand, and I could’ve led you into your own apartment, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to leave you, asshole. You can stand before me right now and tell me you hate me, but I won’t believe it. And maybe you were drunk and had no idea what you were doing, and you can blame it on that, but there’s no way you hate me.”

Race left Spot speechless again. He opened his mouth several times (he probably looked like a damn fish) before figuring out how to get words out. He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to think.

“What else did I do last night?” Spot narrowed his eyes. There had to be more to Race’s story. Drunk Spot would probably hug anyone in the hallway if he was about to cry. Something else happened.

The blonde boy shifted on his feet; he didn’t seem eager to answer. Staring at the floor, he spoke in a soft voice.

“You kissed me.”

“I- what?!” 

Spot’s reaction was evidently not what Race was looking for because the boy winced. 

“It was barely a real kiss! I mean, it was but not like that- fuck I don’t know how to explain it. I pushed you off,” Race rushed out quickly, trying not to anger Spot.

“Okay, look, I’m so sorry my drunken self tried to molest you or whatever. I can avoid you forever from now on. This is- fuck. I’ll just never leave my apartment again. I’ll find a way so you don’t have to see me-”

He didn’t finish what he was saying because suddenly Race had pressed his lips against Spot’s. His eyes snapped shut, but he was in such a state of shock he froze. It was fleeting, and over all too fast for a kiss. By the time he wanted to respond, Race was pulling back. Spot chased after him, but caught himself and opened his eyes to the boy before him. Race’s eyes fluttered open and he cleared his throat.

“Sorry. I just- I don’t want to never see you again. I pushed you away last night because I didn’t want to take advantage of you. You were really drunk,” he explained. “I guess I just figured- I don’t know. That was really dumb, sorry.”

Spot was beyond confused. Race wasn’t freaked out that Spot’s drunk self tried to make a move, subconsciously acting on Spot’s small crush on his neighbor. What the hell?

“Wait, Higgins, do you like me?” Spot shook his head, trying to wrap his muddled brain around the situation.

“I guess I’ve just always looked forward to our little daily arguments these past few months because I got to talk to you. Felt a bit like a twelve-year-old with a crush. I’d insult you, but it was because I liked you,” Race scratched his head. “I’m not the best at flirting.”

“Yeah, I got that now,” Spot laughed a bit. “Alright, asshole, why don’t we actually figure out our feelings over dinner sometime?”

“Are you asking me out?” 

“Well, did you want to just keep insulting me every morning as we pick up our mail?”

“Dinner would be better,” Race shrugged.

“I’ll see you at seven.” Race beamed. Spot winked, and with that, he finally opened the door. As he entered the hallway, Race emerged from his happy trance and called after him,

“Wait, as in tonight?!”

“No, as in seven AM tomorrow. Yes tonight, you idiot,” Spot said unlocking his door. Race leaned on his own and folded his arms, continuing to talk to the shorter boy.

“Fine then. I expect you to wear something nice,” Spot began to protest, but the blonde boy didn’t give him the chance, “And I deserve a rose for every time you’ve called me an idiot.”

Spot scoffed. “Damn Race, you sure are high maintenance. Is it too late to back out of that date?”

“You could, but I would never rescue your drunk self ever again,” Race shrugged and gave him a smirk.

“You’re the worst,” Spot shook his head, smiling fondly and opened his door.

“You love me!” Race’s voice was muffled by the sound of his neighbor's door slamming.

“Sure,” Spot shouted back sarcastically.

He brought the roses that night. And he wore something nice.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey thanks for reading! I wrote this for a tumblr prompt and decided I should just post it here too. Sorry if the characters seemed ooc at all, I tried my best. Hope you enjoyed it! Sprace deserves more love. Feel free to say hi to me on tumblr and request fics, my username is isadoraswears. Look out for some more Newsies drabbles coming soon.


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